


non-sexual forms of intimacy

by throughfire



Series: Buck and Eddie [14]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throughfire/pseuds/throughfire
Summary: Stand-alone ficlets based onthis list.1: phone calls + falling asleep over chat or video call.2: scratching backs + talking.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Series: Buck and Eddie [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630543
Comments: 56
Kudos: 245





	1. phone calls + falling asleep over chat or video call

Buck’s cheekbone comes into view first, followed by the gorgeous blue of an eye and the soft skin of a temple. Then all of him is a blur of movement as he shifts away from the screen and sinks back on his couch. He’s got a mug cradled in both hands and his entire body is curled around the piece of ceramic much like a cat guarding a particularly warm slant of sunshine, soaking up all the comfort.

“Hey,” he’s murmuring softly in greeting, his smile crooked with affection.

His phone must be leaning back against something on the coffee table, because it’s capturing most of the couch and the entirety of Buck’s curled-up body upon it; the shifting of light across Buck’s features from the muted TV in the background.

“Didn’t I hear you say to Hen that you had a date tonight?” Eddie asks, curling one leg beneath his own weight on a different couch, too far away.

Buck makes a noise, soft in the back of his throat. “I like to think I do.”

Eddie swallows. Breathes in slowly through his nose, and shifts his focus to Buck’s socks, his sweatpants, his sweater. The latter is darker than what Buck normally wears these days, softly stretched over the wide line of Buck’s shoulders, his chest. Undoubtedly one of Eddie’s, stolen somehow, like everything else of his. His entire life swept up by wide, caring palms and held there, kept safe in Buck’s grasp, and Eddie has no idea of when it happened, of how.

“That’s not what I’d refer to as typical dating attire.”

Buck tilts his head, keeps smiling as he says, “No one dresses up to go home, Eddie.”

And it’s pointed. Holds a meaning that neither one of them is about to poke at or drag into the light right now, but they can both taste it. Feel the comfortable weight of it settle within themselves; the knowledge of what a home is, of where it exists and within whom it is found.

“Chris wanted to say goodnight,” Eddie says after a few more beats of silence, of contemplation. “Think I just heard him turn the water off in the bathroom.”

The joy that radiates off of Buck is a soft glow, all of him physically burrowing into himself, into his own contentment as he grins and says, “So hand me over, then!”

As though it doesn’t happen several times a week. As though it’s an honor every time.

Eddie turns the TV off, eases his way out of the living room, and finds Chris hovering in the bathroom doorway with a bit of toothpaste still smudged at the corner of his mouth. There’s matching excitement dancing along his features as he asks, “Is that Buck?”

“For you,” Eddie nods, and urges Christopher into his bedroom and up on his bed before he gives the boy the phone.

He touches the pad of his thumb affectionately to the leftover toothpaste, then his mouth to the top of Chris’s head, and only just manages to catch Buck’s warm cheer of ‘ _Hey buddy! I miss_ _you,_ ’ before he walks out of there, over to the bathroom, in order to give them some time, some space – their own moment.

Standing in there, with his toes curled against the tiled floor, his heart is full and brimming with a brand of happiness that never seems to lose its spark – that never ceases to fill him with affection when he’s faced with the bond that has developed so naturally between his son and his best friend, as though it was always meant to be.

He takes a quick shower in there. Allows the heat of the water to settle him and the exhaustion to finally hit him, before he dries off again, drags a t-shirt over his head and secures a pair of sweatpants lazily around his hips.

Once he’s finally walking back into Christopher’s bedroom, he’s carrying a glass of water for the boy’s bedside table, and he finds the pair completely swept up in a conversation about rovers, and perseverance and Mars that doesn’t make much sense to him, but that makes him smile anyway.

“You’ll have to pick this back up tomorrow, Chris, okay?” he cuts in gently, averting his gaze in order to save himself from the sight of his son’s crestfallen expression. “It’s time for bed.”

Chris sighs. Says a petulant, though heartfelt, “Goodnight, Buck.”

“Sweet dreams, kid,” Buck’s voice offers, tone upbeat and full of warmth. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eddie takes the phone back, and is making his way around the foot of Chris’s bed when he notices Buck’s considering expression on the screen. Buck is holding his phone close, now, and the line of contemplation between his brows is obvious – his eyelashes long and visibly kissing where he’s squinting his eyes at the camera.

“ _What?_ ”

“Couldn’t save it for later and let me watch, huh?” Buck mutters.

The genuine indignation makes Eddie snort. He runs a hand through his damp hair and casts his gaze down at his son, who’s thankfully too busy fighting his way under the covers to pay them any attention.

He shakes his head. Is smiling despite himself when he mutters back a soft, “You idiot.”

It makes Buck laugh, loud and melodic over the speaker and somehow managing to cast the entirety of Chris’s room in a warm glow. The laughter is still present in his eyes, though muted into pure affection, when he eventually offers a soft hum and a promise of, “I’ll wait.”

Eddie just nods in response. Sets the phone aside next to the glass on the bedside table, and turns to the bed to tuck Christopher in properly, smooth a hand to the boy’s hair and press a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, dad.”

He eases Chris’s glasses off, puts them among the collection of items on the nightstand, then asks, “Still up for a story?”

“ _Always_ ,” Chris beams.

So Eddie, vibrating with joy and wonder, sits back against the headboard, with Chris’s body tucked up close all along his side, the book in one hand and his voice pitched low as the evening crowds in close around them to listen.

He reads until Chris falls asleep, and then he sits there for another few moments, just like he does every night. Soaks in his own gratitude, in his love for his son, and cherishes the weight and warmth of the boy against his own side while he listens to the familiar rhythm of his breathing.

When he finally leaves, he takes the phone with him. Turns the ceiling lights off, and leaves the door slightly ajar before he shuffles off towards the kitchen. The light is brighter in there, highlighting the mess he left behind after dinner and taunting his exhaustion. He sighs.

“I liked that,” Buck murmurs. His voice is quiet and tinged with drowsiness, and on the screen of the phone the moving image of him is softly lit up from the side by the few spotlights that must still be on in the kitchen area of his apartment. There’s no flashing light from the TV distorting his features anymore; everything suddenly hushed as though Eddie’s voice muted the entire world.

“Just hearing your voice like that,” Buck goes on, “listening to you – I like it.”

Eddie fills up the sink with water. Props his phone up on a shelf inside a cupboard so that it’s at eye-level, and deflects by saying, “One day he’s going to say he’s too old for bedtime stories, and it’s going to break my heart.”

He knows that that day is probably rushing towards him and about to crash the bliss of his reality, but it’s one of his favorite parts of every day – one of his favorite things in the world to do, to just sit there with his son, in the moment, and have his entire life scaled down to the most fundamental source of joy and comfort. He’s going to hold on to every last minute of it for dear life.

“I don’t think that’ll be anytime soon though, Eddie,” Buck ponders. “He clearly still loves it. He loves spending time with you.”

Eddie hums at that, though he doesn’t say anything in response. He simply allows Buck’s words to sink in and reassure him as he starts rinsing the dishes.

A few moments later Buck says, “You’ve got a dishwasher.”

“I know.”

It’s something to do, though. Keeps his hands busy, stretches out time around them and delays an inevitable end to this night.

When he looks up, he catches a fond smile on Buck’s face just before everything gets shaken by Buck’s movements. Through the screen he catches glimpses of a ceiling, a staircase, the unlit spotlights and then the lit ones. Then there’s the accompanying background noise of Buck putting something down; the clang of ceramic against the bottom of a sink.

“Any updates from Maddie?” he asks.

“She’s great!” Buck chirps, and he’s grinning once he finally angles his phone back up so that he’s properly in view again. “Baby’s doing great, too – kicking _a lot_ apparently.”

“That’s good, Buck,” Eddie murmurs back, placing one dripping plate to the side and picking up another. “I’m glad that they’re doing okay.”

“Yeah,” Buck breathes out. “Me too.”

Eddie works methodically for a while; leaves Buck to contemplate whatever it is that’s hovering at the forefront of his mind in peace and focuses on his own hands, his plates and pots and forks, while the water goes from hot to lukewarm between his fingers.

“Do you think they’ll be friends?” Buck asks after a while. He’s entering his bathroom when Eddie looks up, and the screen goes black for a moment, then it flashes disturbingly until the camera on Buck’s phone has gotten used to the sudden onslaught of light in there.

“Who?”

“Chris and the baby.”

Eddie watches Buck conjure up a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste from his own perch on what he assumes is the bathroom sink. He takes in the soft state of Buck, the slight bleariness in Buck’s eyes where his exhaustion spells out its own presence quite boldly.

“Of course,” Eddie hums eventually, smiling. He snatches a towel from the counter and starts drying everything he’s washed, tilting his head up. “He’s excited about it – been talking about her a lot lately, about what he’s going to show her and the things he’ll share with her when Chim and Maddie come over to visit us. I’m sure he’ll be the one sat on a bedside and reading bedtime stories before we know it.”

Buck’s smile goes tender, then. Soft and affectionate, paired with eyes that gleam with fondness even through the screen. He’s standing there, all the way over in his apartment with his hand and its toothbrush suspended mid-air, simply beaming into the camera for a while, and Eddie can’t take his eyes off him. Is just utterly entranced.

“That makes sense,” Buck says, then. “He did learn kindness from you.”

Eddie stills at that. Doesn’t know how to respond, how to take those words in. He has never known love quite like this, has never experienced this kind of faith – this kind of unfaltering belief in his abilities, in him as a person – before. Has never felt so seen by another person.

His cheeks are warm and his hands are dry when he drops the towel. With a bashful heart he reaches for the phone, for the man that he loves, and moves towards the living room. The evening’s homework is still spread out on the coffee table, waiting to be put back in Christopher’s backpack.

“I think he’s a bit worried, though,” he says, because it’s always going to be easier to talk about Chris than himself. “He knows that you’ll want to spend a lot of time with your niece once she’s here, but it’s hard for him to weigh _how much_ time – how that will affect him.”

Buck’s face falls – his expression suddenly one of utter heartbreak as he asks, “He’s said that?”

“Not in so many words,” Eddie tells him. “He’s mentioned it in passing – wondered if you will still come around to see us as often.”

“I _will_ ,” Buck splutters. He’s suddenly vibrating visibly on the spot, as though he cannot contain the sudden rush of emotion within his body – as though the very idea of him possibly hurting the boy that he adores so much is tearing physically at his limbs. “I’ll _always_ come – he’s my Chris, and – and it’s you, and –”

“Buck,” Eddie says. His tone is sterner than he’d like it to be, but he knows that it’s necessary in order to halt Buck’s panic, make him see sense. “I _know_ that. _Chris_ knows that. All I’m saying is that he could use the reminder – the reassurance, from you, that nothing is going to change.”

Buck swallows.

“I can’t come over now,” he says. It’s mostly a statement, though it is slightly tinged with hope.

“No,” Eddie smiles. “You’re too tired to drive. And he’s asleep.”

“Right,” Buck blinks. Seems to settle a bit under the weight of those words – be calmed by Eddie’s calmness. “But I’d be welcome.”

“Well obviously,” Eddie mutters, shaking his head. “You’ll be here tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Buck echoes. Nods his head, seemingly more at himself than at Eddie, and then he finally sticks the toothbrush into his mouth, and immediately starts mumbling around it. “I’ll tell him, Eddie. I’ll make sure he knows.”

“He already knows.”

“You sure?”

“He loves you,” Eddie says patiently, because he understands it; that love, and the fear of not expressing it right or loud enough. “I’m sure. He _just_ needs the reminder, that’s all.”

Buck nods again at that, seems to accept it as a truth. He starts brushing his teeth, with a brow that is furrowed by lines of contemplation, and Eddie leaves him to it, allows him to work through his thoughts in peace and hopes that his mere presence on this side of the call can be supportive enough – something to draw comfort from.

They reach their respective beds at the same time. Ignore the fact that it’s not even nine p.m. yet and get themselves comfortable, curled up around their phones and tucked in by the hands of silence, of night.

The exhaustion is back and weighing heavily on Buck’s eyelids now that the spike of emotion has been worn back down to an even line of solid love and affection. Eddie’s sweater still covers Buck’s torso, and a sleeve is currently drawn tightly over the knuckles of the hand that’s tucked beneath his chin. His hair is long these days, curling slightly at the tips and scattered messily against his pillow. All of him is beautiful, and all of Eddie is aching to touch him, to have him near.

“Taking things slow is great and all, but right now it really fucking sucks,” Buck sighs, as though he’s aching the same way, longing just as badly. “I _miss_ you.”

And Eddie can’t force himself to joke about it, can’t tease Buck about how they just saw each other at work this morning, because Buck’s words are embedded with too much truth to ever be funny. So he just exhales slowly. Says, quietly, “Yeah. It’s – _yeah_. I miss you, too.”

The silence that consumes them, then, is comforting somehow. Interspersed only with their breathing and the rustling of fabric against skin whenever one of them shifts.

If Eddie closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that Buck is right there next to him. Only, they never lie that far apart when they’re together – would never have to bridge inches of a cold sheet with their arms in order to touch each other if Buck actually were there now. And Eddie doesn’t want to look away, anyway. He’s content to just watch – to drink in the sight of Buck for as long as his eyes can stand to flutter back open after every blink.

Buck is the one who falls asleep first, quiet and peaceful, with his nose pressed to the sleeve of Eddie’s sweater in a way that makes Eddie ache even worse.

He doesn’t end the call. Lets the soft sounds of Buck sleeping keep him company instead, as the minutes pass and his thoughts start to spin. He’s got Buck’s words on repeat in his mind, has confusion laced around the very bones within him that ache so badly to just _be_ with Buck, because none of it makes sense. Taking this slow doesn’t make sense anymore.

He leaves Buck in bed, scared that his movements will be loud and startling even through the receiver of the phone. Gets up on bare, cold feet and starts to shift the clothes in his drawers, make space on the racks in his closets.

Then he spends minutes upon minutes of his night preparing a suggestion and settling it upon the tip of his tongue for later – something to offer both of their longing hearts when they’re reunited tomorrow.


	2. scratching backs + talking

It’s hot. They’ve left the windows open to let the few and far apart breezes of the late summer into the loft of Buck’s apartment, and the afternoon is stretching itself out around them, around the bed.

Eddie woke up a few minutes ago. Has propped himself up on an elbow next to Buck’s still sleeping form and spent some moments just watching him, the sun kissed shape of him where he’s sprawled out on his stomach a mere inch away.

He’s been admiring the lean lines of Buck’s legs, the insides of the knees and the muscular thighs where the lovesick scratching of his own stubble probably still lingers, still fades from his stay there hours before.

He has trailed his gaze over the swell of Buck’s ass, the dimples at his lower back and onwards. Has breathed the moment in and reveled in it all – every bare inch of Evan Buckley that he has already worshipped with his hands and mouth countless times before but that still entice him so much, still possess such breathtaking beauty all the way through.

Now he reaches a hand out. Settles it gently against that lower back and savors the warmth of Buck’s skin; admires the way his palm fits there, because he hasn’t gotten enough of touching, of complementing. He doesn’t think he ever will.

Buck starts to stir awake when Eddie finally starts to move his hand over the wide expanse of Buck’s back. He touches a reverent fingertip to the bottom of Buck’s spine and drags it slowly upwards; feels his heart beat with pointed joy inside his chest when Buck flutters his eyes open and smiles up softly at him in greeting.

He moves his hand all the way up to Buck’s neck and scratches the blunt nails of his fingers against the short hair at the nape of it, causing Buck to shiver and his eyes to flutter closed again in an act of bliss, of pleasure.

There’s a bruise starting to bloom on the side of Buck’s neck, over the pulse point. A stamp on the vital corner of a being, boldly stating that Eddie was there, that he invested pieces of himself there that he’ll never want back. He presses the pad of a finger to the spot, now, and earns a sharp inhale from Buck – a soft noise that makes his own heart tremble in response, engorged with love and utterly dizzy with it.

Eventually he retraces his own path. Takes a slow, curios hike with the tips of his fingers along a shoulder blade; traces patterns over the ribcage; feels out every shape of muscle and bone until he’s back to the line of Buck’s spine. There, he finds himself entranced by every hitch of vertebrae – entirely caught up in his own trip along the path of Buck’s center.

He can feel Buck shivering beneath his touch again, can sense the steady movement of breathing and hear the soft noises of every deep exhale, and is entranced by that too. By the way Buck yields so readily under his hand and remains settled there, and by the way Buck gives himself over to Eddie, naked and bared and vulnerable, and trusts all of himself under Eddie’s fingers, under his gaze and heart.

He dips his fingers into a slant of sunshine that stretches out in-between Buck’s shoulder blades, almost expecting it to be liquid and to coat his digits in golden flecks. Traces around the dry, warm shape and admires the beauty of it again; of the afternoon, of the summer, and of _him_.

There’s a sweet taste of adoration on his tongue when he untucks it from the roof of his mouth to ask, “Do you remember the first time I told you I love you?”

Buck hums quietly. Rasps out, “Bit hard to forget that kind of thing.”

“Did you ever wonder why I said it then?”

“Because it was true, I’d hope.”

Eddie stills his hand, rolls his eyes. It makes Buck grin at him, evidently pleased with himself, with the playfulness of his answer. His eyes dance with it; with amusement, with joy, with beauty.

“I’d nearly died for the seven hundredth time or so,” Buck says, then, on an exhale. He furrows his brow slightly in thought, visibly sorting through memories. “Guess I always thought you said it because you were scared of losing me after that, of never getting the chance to confess it again. Or that maybe you only just realized it then, the way I did when you cut that damn line and I thought that the ground had taken you from me forever, only I managed to bite it back then because I knew it wasn’t the right time for either of us yet.”

“No,” Eddie murmurs after a moment. Picks his trek along Buck’s spine back up with gentle fingernails. “I mean, I _was_ terrified of losing you, but I wasn’t saying it in a rush – wasn’t scared of running out of time. And I’d already known for months.”

Buck takes those words in quietly. Seems to be contemplating them for a long time before he finally looks at Eddie, makes a soft inquiring noise and asks, “Why, then?”

“When you woke up in the hospital that night, you expected me to be there,” Eddie tells him, feels himself smiling slightly. “It was the first time you didn’t look surprised to see me, to still have me there by your side after something had happened. And, I guess, the first time you were brave enough to believe that it was real – that our places in each other’s lives were solid.”

Buck’s breathing is slow, though his exhales are shallow. When Eddie dips his head down onto the pillow so that they’re lying eye to eye, he’s met with a gaze that is tender with emotion; all of Buck so vulnerable under Eddie’s hand, so comfortable that he’s splintering there – certain that he’ll be put back together by these fingers, this care.

And Eddie has rarely felt so important, so capable, so proud. Has two people in his life that he’ll do absolutely _anything_ for, and the fact that him simply being there for them seems to be good enough for both of them stuns him. Makes his fingers shake slightly before he presses them more firmly against Buck’s body and makes sure that the weight of his palm is an anchor, a shield, anything Buck could possibly need it to be right now.

“I waited until you stopped looking awestruck every time I loved you silently before I said it – before I loved you aloud,” he says, barely above a whisper now. “Held my breath and hoped you’d be ready to hear it someday.”

Now Buck has tears in his eyes. Seems like he’s lost in the raw and vulnerable state of being _seen_ that Eddie has trembled his way through, too, with this very man that he loves so much. And he loves that he gets to see all of Buck like this, too – that he is allowed in, that he has loved Buck right enough to be trusted like this.

He reaches up. Settles his hand on the side of Buck’s face and brushes his thumb over the cheekbone. Takes a moment, there, to take Buck in and allows them both to breathe each other in before he pushes his fingertips back through Buck’s hair until he can curl them around the back of Buck’s neck and tilt his head forward. He presses his mouth to the spot between Buck’s brows and lingers there. Prolongs the kiss for countless seconds until something finally shatters the silence; the quietest, most fragile noise spilling out of Buck as though physically torn out of him against his will – emotional and wild and desperate – and Eddie will give it anything, everything, all of himself or whatever will mend it.

He meets Buck’s watery gaze and _knows_ – leans in, captures Buck’s mouth with his own and smothers any other noise, any other cry for affection, because it’s all Buck’s anyway, forever, until Eddie’s run dry of it, until all of him has been injected into this family, into these blood streams.

Buck kisses him back tenderly, carefully, as though it’s a dream. Has fumbled a hand out between them and dug his fingers hard into the flesh of Eddie’s side as though he’s suddenly scared that Eddie will leave him after all. Eddie allows him to work through it, to hold on, to bruise his way back to a present where they’d both happily scream their I love yous from rooftops if they thought it was necessary, if they thought anything above a whisper against the other’s skin would make its way deeper into the other’s heart somehow.

Eddie moves his mouth upwards. Kisses Buck’s cupid’s bow, the tip of Buck’s nose and then the bridge of it, where a tear is trying to leap off and down onto the mattress. Presses his lips back onto that spot between Buck’s brows, and finally feels Buck’s grip of him loosen slightly again, become more of a caress.

After a while he feels the hand move. Gets the press of fingers against his chin and backs up enough along the pillow to get a good look at Buck, at his disheveled state, his beautiful features.

Buck touches the pad of his thumb to Eddie’s mouth, his cheek, the corner of an eye. Looks into both of them, eventually, and says, “You were always loud. You always have been, to anyone who can read you. I saw you – knew deep down that you weren’t like anyone else, that you wouldn’t go away. But I was scared of forcing you out anyway, somehow – of making you leave me the way I used to think I’d done with everyone before you. I just… I needed to believe in myself, in my own worth, before I heard you.”

Eddie hums. Has a lump of emotion stuck in his throat that makes it come out deep and reverberating, slightly choked. He’d nod to indicate that he understands if he weren’t so scared of the movement making Buck’s thumb slip away and losing that warmth, that affection.

“Thank you,” Buck whispers, then. Smiles, with water still dancing along his lash lines, “for waiting. For staying.”


End file.
